


Eyes of Purest Emerald Green, Eyes From One Who Lived to Die

by Everything4Everyone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry Potter, Asexual Harry Potter, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Lily Evans Potter, Boarding School, Demisexual Luna Lovegood, Gen, Grey Harry Potter, Grey Hermione Granger, Grey Luna Lovegood, Grey Neville Longbottom, Hufflepuff Harry Potter, Hufflepuff Neville Longbottom, James Potter Bashing, James Potter Being an Asshole, James Potter Lives, Lichtenberg Figures, Lily Evans Potter Dies, Multi, Mute Harry Potter, OC Bashing, Past James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Past Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape - Freeform, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley Bashing, Seer Luna Lovegood, Shy Harry Potter, Torture, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24889009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everything4Everyone/pseuds/Everything4Everyone
Summary: Lukas Potter is the boy who lived.Amaryllis Potter is the girl who survived.Harry Potter is the boy who died.Two are loved, one is hated.Lukas defeated Voldemort.Amaryllis survived his attack.Harry was killed by him.And yet, at the end of the day, all three children are alive and well... and so is Voldemort. And their mother is dead.James lavishes all of his attention onto his older two children, completely ignoring Harry and even going so far as to send him off to a Muggle boarding school. Harry grows up in fear and pain, while his older siblings grow up spoiled and conceited, being told that they are necessary for the Dark Lord to be defeated again.When they all reunite at Hogwarts, they are startled to see what they've become. Amaryllis is completely and totally convinced of her superiority, Lukas is terrified of the Dark Lord and hiding it under a mask of superiority, and Harry is beaten, shy, and quiet. Yet little Harry is the most powerful of them all-and the most injured.Where will they go from here?
Relationships: Cedric Diggory/Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger & Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Neville Longbottom & Luna Lovegood & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape, Luna Lovegood & Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom & Luna Lovegood & Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 75
Kudos: 287





	1. Prologue

"Lily, are you sure that you'll be fine?" James asked, eyes searching his wife's deep emerald ones for an answer. He had already asked a million times, but he had to be sure.

"For the last time, James, I'll be fine. The only thing that I'll have to worry about is your concern!" Lily snapped back kindly. She always had patience with her husband. "Look," she said, searching his deep chocolate eyes, "the kids are fine. Harry's six months old now, Amaryllis is two, and Lukas is almost three. In addition to that, I'm twenty-three. I'm old enough to take care of myself, James."

James sighed, searching the depths of her shining emerald eyes. Only one of the children had inherited her eyes, with the older two getting his own chocolate ones. "Okay. I'll trust you." He grinned at her and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "Don't get in too much trouble!" And then he was gone.

Lily sighed, smiling fondly after her husband. He was so childish, well, he and the rest of the Marauders. None of them quite seemed to grasp the fact that they were responsible adults with children now. Sirius and Remus had finally entered a steady relationship, she and James had three children, and Peter talked about a Muggle girlfriend that he had. They were all happy, and the only damper on their happiness was the fact that the children were being targeted.

None of them was quite sure which child it was, but Lily had a heavy, dark feeling in her chest that it was little Harry, her youngest. James, of course, thought that it was Lukas, since he was the oldest and would be the first one to become a threat. But a mother always knows, and Lily knew, just knew, that it was her little Harry who the Dark Lord was after.

Lily ascended the stairs slowly, quietly. Her children were sleeping. She didn't want to wake them up, not like the Marauders always did. They might be young, but they all had good strong lungs and they knew how to use them.

She entered their room slowly, wand out. They were all sleeping peacefully, apart from little Harry, who was staring at her with those wide emerald eyes of his. He had gotten her eyes exactly, down to the hidden depths and reflective shine. He was the one most like her, although he was James in looks. He looked exactly like James, apart from his eyes and a more delicate structure, but his personality was all her.

She pulled Harry out of the crib he shared with his siblings and rocked him gently, sitting down in the chair she'd had put in the room for just that reason. He burbled gently, eyes following her every movement. His sister, Amaryllis, rolled over in her sleep, clutching at Lukas.

Amaryllis was interesting. She also had her father's wild, untamable black hair, her mother's delicate structure, and her face was a mix between James' traits and her traits. James' eyes and nose and ears, her cheeks and mouth and chin.

And then there was Lukas. He had her fiery red curly hair and mostly her features too. He had his father's build and eyes and temperament, but the rest of him was all her.

Harry had been the only one of her children to inherit her temperament and eyes, both of his older siblings going after James in those regards. Lukas had been the only one to inherit her hair. Amaryllis was the only one who was a mix of both of them.

They were all her children, and she loved them all fiercely.

And then, slowly, unwillingly, her eyelids fluttered shut, her rocking slowed and then stopped, her arms went limp, and she began to snore softly. she was exhausted, and she needed sleep. Unfortunately, she had fallen asleep with a baby in her arms and a killer on the loose.

Harry looked around with wide, curious emerald eyes. His mother had stopped rocking and holding him, going limp. His siblings were asleep. There was nothing to stop him from doing anything.

And slowly, so, so, slowly, he slid to the side and fell asleep, falling off the chair to rest upon his mother's feet.

.·｡˚·☽.⋆˚☾·○·☽｡⋆˚·☆·˚⋆｡☾·○·☽˚⋆.☾·˚｡·.

Lily was woken by a scream. Her child's scream. She didn't think. She moved. Leaning down only briefly to pick up Harry, spinning around to face the monster's snake-like face and slitted red eyes and yew wand. "NO!" She screamed, putting all of her force behind it. Voldemort jerked back, shock on his face, as the wind began to pick up, whipping her hair and nightgown around like it was storming.

Voldemort had never feared a woman's glare before, but he suddenly feared Lily Potter more than anyone else in the world. Her glare was deadly, thick enough to kill. He averted his eyes from hers slightly, just in case she could actually kill him with a look, like a basilisk.

He pointed his wand at the only child he could get to: the one in her arms, the one with the seemingly endless emerald eyes. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" He screamed at her, pointing the wand directly at her child's forehead, which was pressed against her heart.

The child fell limp, the light leaving those emerald eyes that seemed so deep and wise. Voldemort cackled for a moment as the mother screamed her pain.

And then pain ripped through him, the pain of losing one such as himself. The pain of murdering one such as himself. The child was rare indeed, with endless power swirling within him. He was one who was both kind and cruel, one who was a contradiction even to himself. And Voldemort had just wiped him from existence.

Lily Potter stared down at Harry's open emerald eyes. They were dead, empty. Her child was gone.

But she could save him. She knew how. Severus had taught her many Dark spells, and she knew how to use them just as well as he did. There was one that could save him.

Voldemort watched silently as Lily pulled out a long silver dagger of the kind commonly used in rituals. And not just any rituals either, but Dark rituals, so Dark that none of the Light would be caught dead in the same room as it. Lily Potter was attempting to bring back her child, and he was more than willing to let her. He had made a grave mistake by killing the child, one that he now knew he would always regret-if Lily failed to bring him back.

But Lily would succeed. She was a witch of extraordinary power, one who could and would do anything for her children.

And so Voldemort passively watched, not lifting a finger as Lily stabbed herself in the heart, as she spoke words that none of the Light had ever dared to touch. After all, Lily Potter was a Neutral witch, not a Light witch, and certainly not a Dark witch.

"O vos antiquis magicae, hoc sanguis Dei mei hoc faciam et offer ea uti puer ad recuperare mihi sanguinis mei, et cor meum. Reduc eum vivum capere iure patere in inferno, quia virtus commutanda esse existere reddere mihi!" She chanted, blood flowing freely from her heart and washing over the child's prone form. Voldemort watched in anticipation as her eyelids fluttered and she sank to the ground.

"Oh, ye magic of olde, take this blood of my heart that I do offer you and use it to retrieve for me the child of my blood and heart. Bring him back to the living and allow me to take his rightful place in the afterlife, exchange my power for his existence, bring him back into being for me," He whispered. "A good choice, Mrs Potter, if I must say so myself."

He leaned down and frowned. The boy had a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead where the curse had struck him. That was unusual. But the child's chest rose and fell, and Voldemort could feel his heart beating. He was alive, and that was what was important.

Then he turned his attention to the other two and surveyed them quietly. He would have to mark them to draw attention away from the dead child. He turned his wand on the older boy. "Hoc signum cicatricem ducunt!" He watched in satisfaction as the killing curse green light shot out of his wand and touched the boy on the cheek, marking it with a deep scar in the shape of a V.

And then he turned his attention to the girl. He had just raised his wand to do something similar to her when he heard James' frantic voice and heavy footsteps.

Sighing, he turned on the spot and Apparated away.

.·｡˚·☽.⋆˚☾·○·☽｡⋆˚·☆·˚⋆｡☾·○·☽˚⋆.☾·˚｡·.

James burst in the room, eyes searching. He immediately found the prone and bloody form of his wife and dropped to his knees before her. A silver dagger was stuck in her heart, a dagger of the kind used for rituals.

His cries and screams shook the house for hours afterwards, accompanied by the wails of two of his three children. The last, Harry, stayed still and silent, hidden in his mother's arm. He was breathing, but only slightly.

Later, they would bury Lily in the graveyard. They would try to bury Harry with her, but at the moment the casket closed, he would start crying and his wails would drive them to open the casket to find Lily, dead, and Harry, alive.

And thus, titles were given to all three of the children.

Lukas Potter was given the title of the Boy-Who-Lived since it was widely assumed that he had survived Voldemort's killing curse, a feat which no other had done. It was also believed that he had defeated Voldemort since Voldemort attacked no more from that day forward until the day of the funeral.

Amaryllis Potter was given the title of the Girl-Who-Survived since her father had seen Voldemort pointing a wand at her, the words to a curse on his lips. It was believed that he had tried to kill her.

And Harry Potter was given the title of the Boy-Who-Died since he'd been thought dead for several days before the funeral and because it was believed that he had brought Voldemort back to life when he came back, as the funeral was the first time since the attack at the Potters' that Voldemort attacked anyone.

And they all doomed themselves with those three titles, all unknowingly bestowed upon children who didn't deserve them.


	2. Chapter One

Harry was six, but he understood a lot about how the world worked. He knew that James didn't like seeing his eyes and that nobody liked him. He knew that his siblings had defeated the Dark Lord, whoever that was, and that he'd brought him back to life. He knew that both of his siblings had godparents but he didn't. He knew that his mom was dead, that he wasn't allowed to speak of her but everyone else was, and he knew that James was only pretending to be his father. He knew that Padfoot and Moony would always be kind to him and that Albus Dumbledore was not a nice man.

He knew to never go outside, to never talk to anyone unless they talked to him first, to always be polite, to never lie. He knew that it was his fault that his mother had died, that the house had burned down in a huge conflagration and they had been forced to move to Hogsmeade. He knew so much that his head always seemed full to bursting like it was one of those overstuffed chairs that the senile old wrackspurt Dumbledore loved. He knew that everyone hated him.

And he thought that, for a six-year-old, he knew quite a lot about the world. At least he wasn't doing horribly. He could count and read and write and do his lessons. He could do potions with some difficulty, flying with none, cooking with less than he expected, and refused to even go to James' so-called 'How to deal with people you want to marry or date' class. It seemed utterly pointless to him.

Even at the age of six, Harry had no interest in romance or sex. He looked at the magazines James had given him, but they were just pictures. He had tried to imagine it, but he just had no interest. Yes, girls were quite beautiful, and he could appreciate that, but he didn't want anything more out of them than friendship unless they could give him pure love.

Amaryllis already had her eye on a couple of boys a few years older than her, while Lukas had decided to wait a few years. James respected that. He had waited until Hogwarts to begin dating, and his wife was the only one that he had ever dated.

Harry had heard many tales about Hogwarts. Of course, they were all about the nobility and courage of Gryffindors and the sliminess and prattishness of Slytherins, but Harry had researched them all and had finally made his choice.

Harry wanted to be in Hufflepuff. The House of kindness, loyalty, and justice. He really hoped that he got to be in that House someday. Ravenclaws were very studious and smart. Slytherins were sly and cunning. Gryffindors were brave, bold, and courageous. He wasn't very studious, although he did love learning. He wasn't very good at being cunning or sneaky. He wasn't brave or bold. But he liked to think that he was kind.

Harry stood up, fingers clutching briefly at his neck. There was a small, wire-thin collar there, pressed tightly against his throat. James often used it to either choke or electrocute Harry for abysmal behaviour.

James strutted into the room, followed closely by Lukas and Amaryllis. They didn't even spare a glance at Harry, although Amaryllis gave him a malicious glare. She resented his presence in what she considered to be her house.

James stopped in front of the fireplace and withdrew a pinch of Floo powder from the flowerpot on the mantle. "The Burrow!" He called out, and Harry followed the green flames with his eyes. They always held some sort of enchantment for him, no pun intended.

All three children walked through the flames with him. Harry felt the whirling sensation of Flooing, the feeling that he was spinning through both space and time.

And then it was over. Mrs Weasley fussed over them for a moment, patted the soot and ashes off of them, and then promptly informed them that Ron was in the garden, degnoming it.

As Lukas and Amaryllis went off to play with Ron, Harry set out over the hill. His best-and only-friend, Luna Lovegood, lived there, in a tower by a river. They loved to play alongside the river and Xenophilius or Pandora would always clean them up before Harry went home.

Harry cheerfully knocked on the door twice, then twice again, then twice again, then once. Luna instantly opened the door.

"Hello, Harry," she said, smiling sweetly at him. "You're in luck. The hinkypunks are hatching." Harry found himself grinning at Luna's dreamy tone. She never spoke in another tone. It suited her.

He followed her through the door and into the tower. Pandora was there, and she greeted him with a hug and a smile. She looked almost exactly like her daughter, with long blonde hair and pale silvery eyes. She was an extraordinary witch who enjoyed experimenting with spells. She had been in Ravenclaw and was a pureblood and she was the most wonderful woman that Harry knew. "Hi, Pandora!" He greeted with a smile. "Luna was just taking me to see the hinkypunk hatching!"

She smiled down at him dreamily. "Yes, go see the hatching. I'm going to go test out the Mark delendis rit conferatur tenebrarum harum."

Harry grinned and bade her good luck. He had a feeling she was going to need it. And then he turned and ran with Luna to see the hinkypunk hatching before it was too late.

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Harry laughed, throwing himself down on the ground underneath some trees, Luna right beside him. They gazed up together, and Harry giggled as a moke ran across his stomach. A few wrackspurts floated across the air but turned invisible the instant they came within a couple of meters of them, as wrackspurts were prone to do.

Luna giggled happily.

Harry got an idea. Making sure to keep his face carefully blank, he scooted a bit closer to Luna. She ignored him, humming happily while weaving grass together into a little boat. He scooched a little closer.

Luna looked up from her weaving. "Harry, what are you..." Harry pounced on her, rolling as he did down the riverbank. She shrieked in delight as they tumbled down the riverbank, a shriek which was quickly muffled as they rolled right into the river.

It was perfectly safe, of course. They'd played in that river as long as they could remember, and Xeno was supervising them.

Harry opened his eyes as they came to a stop. He and Luna were lying on their sides at the bottom of the river, surrounded by freshwater plimpies. His emerald green met her pale silver, and they both laughed and smiled with their eyes, the way that only they knew how to do.

Harry held Luna closer, feelings of love blooming inside of him. He didn't know what it was or what it meant, but he knew that he always wanted to be with Luna Lovegood.

She giggled, the air rushing out of her lungs in a crowd of little bubbles. Harry quickly used his wandless and wordless magic to form an air bubble around both of their heads.

"And I want to spend forever with you, Harry," she whispered dreamily. Harry found himself drawing her ever closer to him until they were mere inches apart. Then he stopped. What was he doing? He was only six! She was five!

"It's all right, Harry," Luna whispered soothingly. "Keep going."

Emboldened by her words, Harry drew her closer until they were less than an inch apart. He searched her deep pale silver eyes for any sign that didn't want this, but her eyes held nothing but trust, acceptance, and love.

And she leaned forward just slightly, closing her eyes, and Harry closed his eyes out of instinct. And her lips met his, and he could honestly say he was happier than he'd ever been in his entire life.

Luna drew back slowly. Harry opened his eyes just as slowly and gazed at her. "We're going to go the distance, Harry." She murmured. "Just because we're young, it doesn't mean that we don't know what we want." And she leant back in for one more kiss, soft, gentle, fleeting. And Harry never wanted to leave her again.

They left the river after a while and played some more. Between and in trees, under and around rocks, with thestrals and bicorns and zouwu and occamy. And sometimes, when they could, they would sneak in a few kisses.

Their kisses were always soft, gentle. They didn't know how to use their tongues. They weren't needy or grabby. They weren't forceful or violent. They felt no passion, just love, deep, gentle, love. And when it was time to return to the house, they did so happily, talking all the way back about nargles and blibbering humdingers. Pandora smiled and laughed. Xeno shook Harry's hand gravely and told him to treat his daughter right.

But Luna leaned in and whispered something in his ear, a soft farewell, a gentle warning. "I'll see you after punishment, Harry."She said no more on the subject, her suddenly-focused eyes unfocusing and staring dreamily off into space, like she usually did, and refused to answer any questions.And then Harry had to go home. Luna hugged him and kissed him, Pandora gave him a huge hug, and Xeno knelt down and gave him a hug on his own level, and they all stood at the door waving until Harry couldn't see them anymore.

.·｡˚·☽.⋆˚☾·○·☽｡⋆˚·☆·˚⋆｡☾·○·☽˚⋆.☾·˚｡·.

Harry arrived back at the Burrow ten minutes before they had to go home. Ron, Fred, George, Lukas, and Amaryllis were playing Quidditch out back, but Harry had little interest in that. He loved flying and Quidditch, but not with his siblings, and certainly not with Ron. Ron got jealous over every little thing that someone else had that he didn't, such as flying skills. He went straight inside and curled up in a corner with a copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and promptly ignored everyone, not that there was anybody inside but Mr and Mrs Weasley, who were both trying to cook at the same time and failing miserably at it. 

.·｡˚·☽.⋆˚☾·○·☽｡⋆˚·☆·˚⋆｡☾·○·☽˚⋆.☾·˚｡·.

By the time the Quidditch game ended and everyone trooped inside, Harry had finished his book and was simply waiting for them by the fireplace. They were a minute and a half late. He should have brought a larger book. 

Lukas ignored him with a single-minded dedication. Amaryllis glared heatedly at him. Neither of them had ever forgiven him for being the reason their mother had died. They all knew from James that Voldemort was planning to spare their mother, but Harry had been in her arms. 

They guessed that he had been attempting to hit Harry with the dagger, but she had gotten in the way and he had abandoned the two for dead so that he could kill Lukas and Amaryllis. But Lukas had survived the killing curse and Amaryllis had just escaped being hit with one, so he had fled. And he'd chosen the day of Harry's and his mother's funeral to attack once more.

"Potter House, Hogsmeade!" Lukas called, stepping into the fireplace with Amaryllis. Harry stepped in with them, a small, silent presence by their side. They knew he was there, but neither of them deigned to actually bother to notice his presence. He was always there, so why bother noticing?

They all stepped out of the fireplace together, separating instantly. Amaryllis and Lukas ran outside to practice their Seeker skills. Harry started upstairs. 

"Harry." Harry froze at James' voice, slowly turning to face him. He carefully clasped his hands behind his back, trying to mask their faint tremble. James Potter was terrifying when he was angry, and Harry had no wish to anger him. He'd like to survive to see his seventh birthday, thank you very much. 

"Yes, sir?" He asked quietly, wishing that his hands weren't shaking quite so badly. He cautiously descended a step, making sure to stay far away from James. It was never a good thing when James talked to him. James studied him for a moment, then nodded decisively. 

"I've enrolled you in a Muggle primary school. It's a boarding school, year-round. It will be good for all of us."

Harry's heart ached. He knew that he wouldn't be seeing Luna again for many years, or even talking to her. Suddenly, her warning made much more sense. After punishment...

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Harry wanted to laugh. The school was called Castigo Elementary. Castigo was Galician for punishment. Punishment Elementary. Luna's warning was true, in more ways than one, which made sense. Luna was a Seer, after all. Her words were always true. He wouldn't see her again until after he had left Castigo Elementary. 

Harry knew that, understood that, but his heart still hurt to think of all the years he would have to go without seeing her, the only one he had ever truly loved. His mother was dead. He had never had reason to love anyone else. But he had Luna. And she had parents. Two parents that easily accepted anything. With that, how could he ever ask for more? She was kind. She was beautiful. She was smart. She stood up for herself. She was accepting. And if they were truly going to 'go the distance', as Luna had said, then her parents would be his parents too.

Harry bit his lip to keep from giggling. Six years old and already planning out his adult life, including parents and marriage? Preposterous! 

Harry would be going into the first year at Castigo Elementary. He knew next to nothing about anything, but at least thought that he knew enough about the Muggle world to fit in. He had read many Muggle books. Padfoot had some left over from when he was determined to distance himself from his family and Moony had bought many over the years, but Harry wasn't sure if that was enough. 

Padfoot and Moony were special. They loved him very much, and he loved them as well, but they were only rarely permitted to see him, or more like he was permitted to see them. James insisted that they spend as much time as possible with Lukas and Amaryllis, giving every single reason he could think of. They would follow along easily, but would later come and visit Harry. 

For much of his early life, Harry had thought that they were his parents. They had been the only adults that he had seen regularly, James being busy taking care of his siblings and his mother being dead, and Harry hadn't known any better. 

From ages one to three, Harry's life had revolved around them. He had believed that they were his parents, seeing as how they were the only ones around most of the time. They had all had a good laugh about it, and Harry knew better now. 

But Moony and Padfoot still visited and gave him presents, books and games and toys and the like. His siblings usually claimed the games and toys, of course, but Harry didn't really mind. It was the books he truly wanted. Books about all things both muggle and magical, about things shared and things not, fiction and non-fiction. 

And from that, he had learned. And by learning, he had understood. 

Harry accepted his fate in life. It was due to happen, and often people brought about their own fate simply by trying to avoid it. Harry had always had a lot of respect for Seers. They carried an immense burden, the future. Everything they Saw had the potential to be true, and much of what they Saw was heart-rending. The world ripped asunder, a child being torn from his family, sane people being locked up and called crazy, muggles finding out about magic and persecuting all of magickind, and so much more. 

And everything they Saw had a high chance of coming true. Many Seers lived in terror, haunted by the things they'd Seen. Some of them had given prophecies about terrible things that had, unfortunately, come true. Some had been scorned and treated with derision, being told that they were fakes and frauds and that what they Saw was rubbish. Many of them were broken. Some were terrified that they were going to die.

Harry's thoughts turned to death. 

What did death mean? The world had many different theories. The majority of people believed of an afterlife of some sort. Others believed that you just ceased to be once you died. Others believed in reincarnation, being reborn over and over again in other lives. Others believed in death being a great adventure (*cough*Dumbledore*cough*). Everyone had their own opinion on what they'd find after they died. There were millions of theories and opinions and whatnot, and only one could possibly be correct. 

Harry wondered what he'd find on the other side of the Veil. He was pretty sure that he wouldn't just stop existing. Perhaps there was a waypoint, like a train station, where people could stop and figure things out. And then there'd be trains, and those trains would lead to whatever was next. And perhaps, just perhaps, each of those trains would lead to another option. The first train might lead to rebirth and reincarnation, while the second one to an afterlife of some sort, and perhaps a third one into nonbeing. All of those would count as an adventure, so Dumbledore would be correct in stating that death was simply the next great adventure.But that was just a theory. Of course there wasn't, couldn't be, a waystation full of trains, a place to get off the train of life and board one of the many trains of death, or perhaps even switch between trains of death as people did with regular trains. 

Harry was roughly jolted out of his thoughts as Sirius abruptly hit the brakes, throwing Harry forward. He would have fallen to the ground and been pitched forward over the front of the motorcycle had Padfoot not managed to catch him and hold him in the seat. Harry smiled briefly at him before turning and looking over at his new home.

His heart stopped. Castigo Elementary was a small school, with less than three hundred students attending. There was no playground and the yard was small, grassless, surrounded by electric barbed-wire fences, and littered with cigarette butts and broken glass. The walls were a dull grey and were so filthy that Harry almost vomited right then and there just from the sight of them. The few students that were actually outside were wearing all black clothes that covered as much of their skin as possible, cleverly hidden earphones, and dull eyes. They shuffled around blankly, keeping their heads down and their mouths shut. 

But what struck Harry the most, more than the disgusting school or the dangerous grounds or the dull-eyed students, was the silence. 

It pressed down on him, oppressing and cold, completely indifferent. It was a silence born of fear and misery, a silence cultivated by hate and cruelty, a silence forced down.There was no sound at all. Harry couldn't even hear crickets or the wind blowing. Just silence, mind-numbing, bone-chilling silence. 

And Harry knew, just knew, that that silence was the herald of much more. It settled in his bones, a cold chill that he could feel even through Padfoot's warm presence beside him. Silence. Cold, deep, chilling, haunting, breathtaking silence. The silence that occurs after a crime too horrible for words has been committed, the kind of crime that shocks you and stuns you and makes you unable to beath, and you can't do anything more than stare in absolute and total horror at the scene before your eyes. The kind of silence that you hear after someone dies in front of you. It felt like the whole world had stopped. The silence bore down on him, heavy and oppressive, stealing the breath from his lungs and the strength from his body. He could vaguely feel himself trembling, but it was all quickly swept away in the silence. 

Harry had never heard a silence like that, a silence so absolute, before. A silence that presses down on you and shreds your hope, a silence that steals your breath and freezes your heart. It was more than frightening, more than terrifying. It was worse than fear or horror. It was... Harry could find no name for it. The English language had no words for that kind of terror. It was soul-deep, this terror, this silence. It felt like Dementors had invaded Harry's mind and were making a home in his heart and soul, digging ever deeper into his psyche. And from Padfoot's tensing and brisk movements, he had felt it too.

Harry could never be sure how long it had been before they moved. It could have been seconds; it could have been hours. But eventually, Padfoot stood up and began walking to the school. Harry followed him, movements slow and sluggish, his thoughts like honey. He could barely move, could barely breathe, the weight pressing on him, beating him down into the ground, oppressing him. But he somehow found the strength to move, following Padfoot to the front door. 

He didn't know how he managed to look the headmaster in the eyes and greet him. He didn't know when Padfoot left or saying goodbye, only that he wasn't there anymore. He could barely handle being given a book and being escorted to his new bedroom. Harry collapsed the instant he hit the covers, book clutched in hand, a bag of possessions cradled under his small form. No one would steal them. They would have no use for it. Possessions ceased to matter here, apart from those few things that every student kept.

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Harry blinked, slowly sitting up. He was in a dorm room full of beds. Most of their occupants were either just getting up or already up. To Harry's surprise, there were both girls and boys. In all the research he'd done, schools tended to segregate the two genders. He supposed he'd been wrong, then. 

Harry stood up slowly. The silence still weighed heavily on him, slowing his thoughts and movements, but sleep had been good to him. He could move easier and the honey coating his brain seemed to have melted somewhat. There was no talking and little noise. It was painfully obvious who was new and who wasn't. The new kids were the only ones whose movements weren't as silent as the grave. 

Harry began to get dressed as silently as possible, wincing whenever he made a sound. It cut through the silence like a knife, echoing and burning in his ears. And yes, the silence felt wrong, but it felt even more wrong to try and break it. 

He noticed something even more heart-rending as he picked up the book he'd been given and found his schedule. The new kids were the only ones who still had more life than a spark remaining in them.

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Harry was seven. By now, he understood a lot about the world, more than what went on in his house and in his family's worlds. What he understood best of all was his school. 

All of the students went by the same schedule. They slept in the same room, had the same classes, ate at the same time, and went to bed at the same time. 

They were not divided by ability or age. All of the students were given the same work and expected to complete it. Many of them had to stay up all night just to finish their homework, never mind the projects and labs and experiments and essays that were due that morning. 

They ate whenever the cooks decided they wanted to cook. Breakfast was only an option on holidays, and most kids were too busy finishing their homework to be able to eat much. Lunch was whenever the cooks felt like cooking something or going through the hassle of serving something, and dinner was usually whatever was left from lunch the day before. 

Every child was given the same amount of food, whether they were a first-year, a fifth-year, or anything in between. And what they were fed could barely be called a snack, much less a meal. Breakfast was usually one packaged muffin each, or sometimes a cold bagel. Lunch was normally a cheese stick, a strawberry, and a piece of bread, and whatever the students weren't given was served to them for dinner the next day. 

The students all lived the same lives. Get up in the morning. Go to class. Turn in all your work for that class. Get assignments from that class. Go to the next class. Repeat. If the bell rings, eat lunch. If not, repeat the earlier cycle. If the bell rings, eat dinner. If not, repeat the previous cycle. Go to the dorm. Stay up all night working on homework. Repeat the entire cycle. 

Harry, who was now a second year, was very well-versed in the cycle by now. He, already a malnourished and underfed child, was tiny now. He doubted he had been actually fed properly since his mother had been alive. Every one of his bones jutted out from his small frame, looking almost as if they were about to tear through his skin and rip him apart. He seemed oddly tall, although that was mostly due to him being as thin as a skeleton-almost literally. He looked stretched, his skin drawn tight over bones that never grew enough. Every bone was sharp, jutting out from his body in a way that shouldn't have been possible but was. 

And the sad thing was, he didn't stand out at all. He looked perfectly normal there, amongst children who had been treated similarly. 

The teachers didn't care. They piled the children with more work than they could hope to accomplish before dawn and then used harsh and cruel punishments if they didn't have all their work done and a passing grade on it to boot. Often these punishments would prevent the child from being able to do their work, which resulted in more punishments... 

All of them were covered in scars. Scars from whippings on their backs, scars from manacles on their wrists and ankles, scars from spankings and paddlings on their bottoms, scars from burns, scars from knives, scars from cruel and unusual punishments, and always, always, always, always, the thin silvery cuts lining the inside of wrists or throats. Some children only had old ones of these. Others only had new. Others, like Harry, had some of both. 

The teachers had heavy steel paddles that they would leave out in the sun to use for spankings. They would hit hard and hit fast, and it was rare that it wouldn't scar. The teachers who smoked would often burn the children with their cigarettes and fill their lungs with the smoke. Many of the teachers would whip the children for very little to no reason at all. All of them used manacles to hold the children in place for their punishments. 

Rulers were also used, thick, heavy, steel, rulers with razor-sharp edges. Their palms were covered in the sharp, silvery lines that were caused by those razors, frighteningly similar to the ones that lined their wrists and throats. 

Recess was torture. The ground was covered in cigarette butts and broken glass, which was mostly from alcohol bottles. What little space there was had been fenced in with an electrical barbed-wire fence. Most of the kids had deep scars on their feet from the broken glass. A lot of them had no shoes or very poor ones. They would often continue to wear clothes until they literally fell apart. 

Many of the children had beautiful branching scars across their skin, looking eerily like frost or evergreen branches, often with deep puncture wounds. 

These were from the fence. The electricity caused branching scars, while the barbed-wire caused the puncture wounds. Usually, all it took was a kid brushing against the fence briefly. The resulting scars were horrible, but also beautiful. They looked almost like tattoos, frosted evergreen branches reaching across their skin. Almost every child had accidentally brushed up against the fence at some point. 

Harry still vividly remembered the time he had touched the fence. He had just been walking past it and he had tripped. His left shoulder had hit the fence and it was history. The electricity had coursed through his body, shaking him slightly. And then he had stood up and kept going. He felt sore and exhausted and he was tingling all over, almost as if his limbs had fallen asleep and were just now waking up. It had taken him several days to notice the lightning scars. He had done some research on the fence and on electricity in general and had discovered that the fence doubled as a lightning rod, taking and storing the lightning bolts that hit the school. He had been struck with the force of a lightning bolt and hadn't even realised it. It had shaken him quite a bit, but he'd recovered quickly. 

You had to around here.

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Harry moved through the halls, silent as a wraith, the earphones that were passed out to all of the first-graders by the fifth years softly whispering in his ears. 

On their first day of school, all of the first years were given the fifth years' earphones, to give to the first years when they were about to graduate. 

They were a way to deal with the crushing silence, to ignore the sound of whips cracking and flesh burning and manacles fastening. But mostly for the silence. None of the children talked. None of them made any more sound than they could. They were all afraid to break the dreadful silence.

The earphones were their solution. They were practically invisible, being little black dots that you placed in your ear, and the teachers hadn't caught on yet. They used them freely, keeping the volume so soft that it could barely be heard, and they would listen.

The headmaster had a radio in his office. It was a simple matter to hack it and use it to listen to it through Bluetooth. It spoke to them constantly, usually gentle instrumental music but also 'regular' music. 

Harry had gone a step farther. He had cut open his ear and inserted the earphones into the hole before leaving it. Nobody took any notice of it. He would simply have to clean them before giving them to the next child. 

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Life was hard, yes. Harry found himself forgetting many details about his life from both before and after he'd joined Castigo Elementary. 

Mostly his family, but other things too. How it felt to be clean. What grass felt like. The colour of his mother's eyes. How it sounded when the world wasn't filled with a heavy, oppressive silence. 

The world felt heavy here, quiet. The only sounds made were those of the teachers speaking or punishing, and those sounds only managed to accentuate the silence instead of lessening it. 

In all those years of silence, Harry's ears began to grow more attuned to it. He began to grow adjusted to complete, absolute, total, silence. And then he began to hear. The slight whisper of movement. The wind turning a page. Sounds so easy to miss, sounds that were, in fact, barely there at all, but Harry could hear them now. 

And soon the silence told him as much as his ears once had.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry carefully turned the envelope over in his hands, flipping it silently. Emerald green words on thick yellow parchment. Who even used parchment nowadays, anyway? The magical world was so far behind the muggle one that it was laughable. Quills instead of pens or pencils. Parchment instead of paper. He didn't even know how that worked out, what with the price of parchment and the time and work required to make it, but, oh well. No technology. No phones or elevators. No GPS. No internet or WiFi. No restaurants or cities. No computers or televisions. The closest thing they had to technology was a radio, and that was honestly dumbfounding.

The magical world depended on magic for literally _everything_ and it drove Harry bonkers. There were charms to clean and cook, spells to talk and walk, potions to heal and protect, spells to fight, wards and runes to protect, potions to tell the truth, Pensieves to remember. There was literally _something_ for _everything_ , and it was driving Harry bonkers. Couldn't magical people walk and talk and eat and think and remember and protect and heal and clean and cook and fight and get others to tell the truth _without_ needing help for every bloody thing? He was going to go stark raving mad at this point. Muggles did so much better. Yes, they had their appliances, but they also lived full lives. They kept all of their memories within their brains, not in buckets. They did the vast majority of things themselves.

Sighing, Harry opened his Hogwarts letter, skimming over the contents. He carefully folded up the first sheet and tucked it back in the envelope. The first sheet was just for show and introducing the muggleborn and muggle-raised children to Hogwarts. There was nothing of importance in it.

The second sheet was what held his attention. A bittersweet smile crept over his face as he scanned it. He would have to go to Diagon Alley to get all of the supplies, seeing as he had basically nothing from the magical world.

Harry reached into his ear and hit the pause button on his earphones. The crushing silence pressed down on him, but Harry was used to it by now. It had been years, after all.

For the first time since he'd got them, Harry disconnected the earphones from the radio and pulled it out of his ear. He was graduating tomorrow, which meant that he would be giving his earphones to a first-year at the end of the day.

They had arrived yesterday, scared, silent, and bruised, crushed and pressed. They were confused and hurt, wondering why the silence was so heavy, wanting to break it but afraid of what might happen. Some of them had tried to talk but their throats had seized up. Some were angry, some were sad. All of them were terrified.

Harry stood up, walking towards the door. Might as well get to his first class of the day, even if the teacher, Miss Minka, would use a ruler on him for being too early. If she was beating on him then she couldn't hurt the other fifth-graders.

Harry was the protector of the students there. He'd take any punishment he could to keep the others safe. He tried to be kind and honest, even in a place as silent as Castigo. Silence was no excuse for indifference or cruelty. It was an excuse and Harry refused to accept excuses. They were nothing.

Harry walked down the halls, his feet carrying him surely down the paths he'd been walking down as long as he could remember. He could barely remember his family, Padfoot and Moony and the Lovegoods and the people he lived with. He couldn't remember what kind of dog Padfoot's animagus form was, the colour of Moony's eyes, his sibling's middle names. He couldn't remember his father except as a looming, threatening presence that promised pain.

He had been at Castigo Elementary for most of his life. He had only been six when he came and his memories of _before_ were blurred and hazy, hard to remember and even harder to concentrate on. The overwhelming silence made it worse, erasing clarity and blurring details until Harry couldn't be sure if what he remembered was the truth or a lie, until he could barely even remember life _before._

Harry wasn't sure if it was like that for everyone. He knew that many of the children had blank faces and empty eyes, that they couldn't make noise anymore. He knew that, with nobody to talk to, their memories had begun to fade and blur, until all they remembered was what had been imprinted on their brains.

Harry smiled faintly at the thought of his family. Padfoot, Moony, Luna. He could no longer remember them very well. Details had long ago faded, slowly dissolving until he could no longer be sure if they were real or not. Shades and colours and animagi and sounds and details. Tiny things, but important nonetheless.

Luna. He hadn't seen her in so long, not since that day, the day that everything changed. The day he kissed her and she told him that they would go the distance. Not since he was six and she was five, not since he had started school. Not since that day at the bottom of the river, not since that day.

He probably wouldn't see her again until she started school in a year. One more year. He'd lasted this long; one more year couldn't hurt. It would be a better year, one full of less pain and full of magic and joy. The halls would sound with laughter and fear and pain would be a thing of the past.

He didn't have to be a Seer to know. Luna was and she had told him. Hogwarts was a place of joy and laughter, a place of magic and safety. It was a place to live, a place to be free and happy. She had told him that he would find acceptance and happiness there. He would see his little family again, Luna and her parents and Padfoot and Moony. They were his family.

Harry's head dropped, emerald eyes fixing on his ragged too-small shoes as he shuffled into Miss Minka's classroom. She was there, and the pain would soon begin.

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Harry smiled softly as he placed the earbuds in the girl's cupped hands. She lifted them up to her ears and Harry almost sighed in relief as her face smoothed, pain and worry and silence dropping from it and allowing him to see her.

She was five, with a small, petite form and blonde ringlets that framed her delicate face and wide sapphire eyes. A purple and yellow bruise spread its way across her left cheek, and Harry found himself reaching out to it, desperate to help. His fingers brushed lightly across it, the bruise fading as his fingers passed over it. It would be gone in the morning.

Harry felt relief settle deep in his bones at the relief and joy in her face. She reached up and copied the gesture, running her fingers over his left cheek. Harry felt her silent words and a tear fell silently down his face. She didn't deserve to be here. None of them did.

He brushed his lips softly against hers, barely enough to even touch. It was for less than a second, but he filled the gesture with all the love he felt for her. Her gasp was silent, but full of wonder, and she stared up at him with heartbreaking eyes.

He smiled down at her, trying to give her at least one good memory of her time here. Castigo was silent and painful, but there were also good times, times of unrelenting love and endless care, of times to band together and be one. Times when people were hurt or dying, times when people needed help.

And then it was over. He was whisked away by one of the many teachers around, teachers who roamed the halls to ensure that none of the children got close to each other. A group of close-knit friends or companions could bring down their system, break their school. People weren't allowed to show care or love or give affection. They weren't allowed to help or smile or laugh or kiss.

At least Castigo held no prejudice or restrictions. Blacks and foreigners were treated the same as whites. Girls were treated the same as boys. They shared a room regardless of race, age, religion, or gender. Japanese and German, Hispanic and French, American and British, Australian and Javanese and many more, all in the same room. Buddhists, Jews, Christians, Zoroastrinists, Hindus, Taoists, Islamics, Confucianists, and many more, all in the same room. Girls and boys and transgenders and all the other numerous genders, all in one room.

The children were taught that there was nothing wrong with any of this. Gender was unimportant. Colour and race and religion was unimportant. They were all humans and must be treated as such.

Harry hazily remembered a time when genders had clearly defined borders. Girls had this bathroom, boys had this one. A girl and a boy could not share a room or a bed unless they were together, mated, or intimate. Dorm rooms were separated by gender. Some muggle schools were even separated by gender.

But not Castigo. Castigo held no restrictions from gender to gender and that was how Harry had been raised, how all of them had been raised. They had spent almost their entire lives here, buried and suppressed under silence.

And as Harry felt the whip bite into his back, a sharp, familiar pain, flesh severing as easily as muscle, cutting over old scars and closed wounds, he smiled. He smiled because he would be gone the next day, graduated from this awful place. He smiled because he'd be able to see his family again. He smiled because he was going to Hogwarts.

He smiled because he knew that he would live.

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Harry clutched his bag tightly in one hand as he made his way through the streets of London. A few dirty children with ragged clothes and skinny frames eyed his bag and clothes greedily, hungrily, but evidently realized that there was nothing of value on him. All of his possessions were either in the bag or with his family, and anything that had the slightest value had been left with his family. All that he had were a few clothes and knickknacks, gifts from the other children or grudgingly provided by the school.

He hadn't been anywhere but Castigo, the Burrow, and Potter House in his entire life. A place like London was a startling change. Noise and people everywhere, crowding the streets and shouting, talking to friends while trying to sell this to a woman who was busy talking to her friends who were talking to their friends who were all trying to buy wares from people talking to other people. It was a mess.

Harry loved it. His ears rang with the noise, a noise that he'd only ever heard brief snippets of in Diagon Alley as an infant. He wove happily through the crowd, listening to the thrum of people. Footsteps, breathing, heartbeats, gasps, scowls, laughter, screams, playing. Talking.

There was colour and light. He spotted mirrors and swathes of brightly coloured cloth, smiled at children with clean clothes and bright eyes screaming with joy and running around the street, almost laughed at a woman's indignant face.

The Leaky Cauldron was incredibly simple to find. All he had to do was look where the others' eyes slid away and there it was. A small, dingy pub crammed between two other stores, unseen by the hordes of people hurrying by to their destinations.

Harry opened the door and slipped inside unnoticed. He thought the bartender, Tom, might have glanced his way, but nobody took any notice of him as he made his way through the building out back.

The yard was the same as it had been the last time he'd been here, or so Harry thought. He'd been around three the only time he'd been here, and his memory was hazy at best, but he remembered how to get in. His little three-year-old eyes had focused on that one brick-just in case.

Harry tapped the block, wincing slightly at the grating noise it made as it folded back. He was unused to sound as it was, and the wall had been harsh on his ears even when he had only been three, and he had been extremely used to loud noises as a child.

And he took his first step into Diagon Alley as himself.

Nobody recognized him. Of course they didn't. He barely got any publicity. Honestly, he was glad. He'd always hated fame and being known, even as a little kid. He had seen what it did to his siblings. Lukas had the weight of the world on his shoulders and Amaryllis was stuck-up and believed that she was better than everyone else.

As Harry walked through the streets, he looked around, amazed. Robes of all colours spun around, children racing down the streets to get to this store or that store. Hogwarts infected the air, hovering on everyone's lips and in their brains. Chatter filled the air, vendors hawking their wares, parents shouting for their children, children playing, stress, hurry, wonder. It was a lot louder than muggle London, especially since it was so outdated, but it was wonderful.

He couldn't help but gape in awe as he approached Gringotts. The building was huge, gleaming brilliantly, white marble rising high above the other shops and glinting in the sunlight. The goblins standing outside the magnificent doors looked tall and important, standing almost as tall as he was.

He approached slowly, his footsteps silent against the white marble. The goblins bowed to him as he passed and he hesitated. What was the proper response? Finally be bowed back, making sure it was at the same degree as their bows, and hurried on, missing the stunned looks the goblins exchanged behind his back.

As Harry approached the next set of doors, he glanced up, searching for the words that he knew were carved there, and mouthed them to himself.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_   
_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_   
_For those who take, but do not earn,_   
_Must pay most dearly in their turn,_   
_So if you seek beneath our floors_   
_A treasure that was never yours,_   
_Thief, you have been warned, beware_   
_Of finding more than treasure there._

The goblins once again opened the door and bowed to him and he bowed back to them politely. Just because he'd spent most of his life in a place where nobody really bothered with manners didn't mean that he could just forget them when he returned to the outside world.

Entering the main hall, Harry felt his eyes widen. It was quieter than Diagon Alley or muggle London, with everybody being polite and waiting turns to talk and following public decorum, but still much louder than he was used to. Goblins waited behind desks, either waiting to help someone or busy helping someone. People scurried back and forth, either going to their vaults to collect money or leaving with full moneybags.

He walked up to one of the open desks and hesitated. How would he do this? He didn't have his key and had no idea if he could still use his voice after so long. He hadn't made any sound since he was six, after all, and five years was a long time to go without speaking.

"Yes?" The goblin asked brusquely, obviously impatient with the silent boy standing in front of his desk and waiting his valuable time. Harry felt embarrassed, realising that he was probably blocking the way of other people who needed to get money out of their vaults.

He opened his mouth, trying to ask if he could retrieve some money from his vault, but no sound came out. Not even a whimper or a whine, not even a hiss of air. Nothing. The goblin tapped his feet impatiently. Harry felt shame and embarrassment colour his cheeks but refused to lower his gaze. Instead, he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and a pencil from where it was buried in his thick black hair and quickly wrote a note in his best handwriting and slid it over to the goblin. _'I'd like to go retrieve some money from my vault please, sir. I don't have the key, but the vault number is 687.'_

The goblin arched an eyebrow at the boy, but waved another goblin over. "This is Griphook. He'll bring you to your vault and back." His voice was gentler now, surprised and a bit ashamed. Harry guessed that it was because he couldn't talk.

Harry tried to thank him, but his words dissipated into thin air long before they reached his lips. Sighing silently, he pulled another piece of paper out of his ratty coat pocket and wrote another quick note, sliding it over to the goblin. _'Thank you, sir.'_ Three words. He couldn't even say three words. He felt his cheeks colour with shame again but held his head up high and turned to face Griphook, exchanging bows. He could swear that the goblins looked very surprised, almost startled, and wondered if he'd done something wrong.

But then Griphook offered him a genuine smile, turning and leading him towards the carts, and Harry could do nothing but trail silently after the goblin, mind full of questions that he couldn't ask. He wasn't allowed to and wasn't able to. he wanted to ask about the bowing, wanted to ask so much! He wanted to learn, to understand.

But as he settled into the cart, he pushed those questions to the back of his mind. He would ask them later, after he taught himself how to talk again and others could understand him. He had time.

Griphook grinned at him, wickedly sharp teeth glinting dangerously in the gloom, and Harry felt himself grin back, a joyful bubble growing in his chest at the sensation of someone smiling at him.

And then they were off, and Harry left himself in the maze, losing himself in the ride, allowing himself to drift away, feeling the wind in the hair, the cold colouring his cheeks, the thrill penetrating his heart. He didn't need to be here, he could just be. He let himself drift away, whipping through himself like the wind, melding with the air. He didn't need to be, here in this place, he didn't need to be. He could just _be,_ and that was wonderful.

And all too soon, the ride was over and Harry was standing up and walking over to his vault, Griphook providing a key out of seemingly nowhere and placing it in his hand, and then it all seemed real.

Harry came back to himself with a start. The key was in the lock, turned all the way, and Griphook had placed a hand on his shoulder, silently encouraging him to open it. Harry smiled at him, warmth trickling through his very soul. He hadn't been touched kindly for more than a second in five years.

Taking a deep, silent breath, Harry swung the door open, preparing to see a nearly-empty vault, or one robbed of everything of value. What he saw instead took his breath away: small piles of coins scattered across the ground. It wasn't a fortune, but it would be enough to last him through all seven years at Hogwarts with good quality materials but not much else. Frowning, Harry turned to Griphook, paper already in hand. _'Would it be possible to make it so that my vault was accessible only to me and anyone I give permission to? Also, I'd like to meet with someone about possible investments, if you don't mind, sir.'_

Griphook's eyes scuttled quickly across the note, which he folded and tucked into a pocket. "Certainly, Mr Potter," he said, grinning again. "I have a list of investments with me, and you can owl me to inform me which investments you'd like to take on. As for making your vault accessible only to you, all you have to do is smear your blood on the door. Anyone you want to give permission to will simply have to mix their blood with yours on the door."

Harry winced. _'Just call me Harry, please, sir. I much prefer to go by that name.'_ Griphook nodded, grin widening as he tucked the note into the same pocket as the others. Harry watched him for a moment, then slid his pencil out of his hair and stabbed his finger with it harshly, right in the middle of a not-quite closed injury. It immediately began to bleed, hot sticky warmth trickling down his finger. Harry couldn't even feel it under all the other pain, but he did watch it bleed for a moment. Blood had always mesmerised him, and today was no exception.

Harry strode over to the door and ran his fingers down it, ruby streaks trailing behind them, smearing the damp stone. He took a moment to admire the brilliant ruby shade, staining his fingers and the cool stone, before turning to Griphook, silently asking if he'd done it right. Griphook nodded.

Harry smiled at him happily, absently cleaning his fingers on his trousers. He gestured to the cart, eyes sparkling with joy and mischief. Griphook couldn't help grinning as he climbed into the cart and started up the ancient magicks that made it run. This child was special. He was truly special.

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Harry bowed to Griphook and the other goblin who had helped him, who had introduced himself as Riptooth. They bowed back, eyes glimmering with something that Harry couldn't identify.

Harry cleared his throat softly, gathering every ounce of voice left within him. A strangled noise that sounded barely louder than his own breaths escaped him, sounding almost like a whimper. Griphook and Riptooth shared a secret goblin smile between them.

Blushing slightly but otherwise unaffected, Harry withdrew another piece of paper, writing as quickly as he could to try to get the message across. _'Thank you.'_ He carefully passed the note to the goblins, making sure not to smear the pencil marks. The goblins read it together, heads bent so close together they could have been a cerberus or a runespoor, only missing a head.

Harry turned around, softly sweeping out of Gringotts. The two goblins watched him go, smiling toothily. "Mr Potter!" Griphook called after him. No one else heard, but Harry froze and turned around, expression blank as a slate. "Good luck."

Harry smiled and turned away, sweeping out with his head held high and a content smile on his face.

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The first place Harry went to was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. He was the only customer except for a boy with a pale, pointed face, platinum blond hair, and the snobbish expression of the rich and powerful. Harry ignored him. He could already tell the boy was useless. Perhaps, in the _very_ distant future, he would be of some use, but he was just another spoiled and pampered rich brat.

Harry tried to always be kind, but he could tell that it would be of no use with this boy, and he _hated_ wasted effort. Waste got people killed and beaten. Wasted effort did much the same. Wasted time, wasted effort, wasted work. It happened often enough in Castigo.

Harry was fitted after he ordered one set of emerald green dress robes, five sets of Hogwarts student robes, three sets of casual wear, and two underrobes to wear beneath his robes. He didn't bother with the pointed hat; nobody ever used them.

Most of the rest of the stores were all very mundane, just getting the items on his list and leaving. Soon enough, all he needed to get was a trunk, a wand, his course books, and an owl. The rest of his supplies had been shrunken and stuffed in a pouch.

The trunk was first. Harry didn't bother remembering the name of the place, he simply walked in, head down, and ordered the best trunk they had.

The man behind the counter had greasy brown hair and watery brown eyes. He had a stretched look, like he had grown too fast, and was inordinately bony. Harry put him in his early thirties. He gave Harry an odd look, putting the note down on the messy countertop. "The best we've got? You sure you can afford that, kid? It's pretty expensive."

Harry nodded. His trust vault from his mother had close to 500,000 Galleons in it, just like his brother's. He was confident he'd be able to afford anything the man gave him.

The man eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then grinned, a large, bright grin, and reached over the counter to shake hands with Harry. "I don't know who you are, kid, but I like you. The name's Bilious, but you can call me Billy. I'm a halfblood, my dad was a wizard and my mom a muggle. I have two little siblings and they are both little shits. I'm thirty-three years old and I've been working here since I bought the place at seventeen. What about you?"

Harry smiled, pulling a note out of a pocket. _'My name is Harry. I'm a halfblood. My mom was a muggleborn, my father a pureblood. I have triplet siblings who I haven't seen since we were six. I'm eleven years old and about to start my first year at Hogwarts.'_ He slid the note across the table to Billy, who read it quickly, a smile breaking out across his face.

"Hey, fellow halfblood! There aren't nearly as many of those around these parts nowadays. Both of your parents were magical? Lucky. My mom freaked when I started using accidental magic. You're a triplet? Tough luck, man. Two siblings is horrible. Good thing you haven't seen 'em in a while. You tend to get along better that way. Oh! You're going to Hogwarts! Good luck! I went there myself a good long while ago. It was quite the experience for me, I must admit. I was in Hufflepuff. Do you know what House you want to be in yet?"

Harry blinked at the outpouring of words from the man, then shrugged. Billy was nice enough, and a nice conversationalist. _'I've always wanted to be in Hufflepuff. The rest of my family is in Gryffindor, and I honestly wouldn't be surprised if my siblings were too. They've been raised Gryffindor. What's Hufflepuff like?'_ He slid the note to Billy, who read it with a giant grin.

"Oh, wow! I've never met anyone who actually _wanted_ to be in Hufflepuff before. Everyone either wants Gryffindor or Slytherin, except for the rare few who want Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff's mostly brushed aside. I hope you get in. You seem like a good fit. Hey, want to sit down and talk for a while before buying a trunk? I'll even give you a discount for it! Nobody ever comes in here anymore, not since that new place opened down the street."

Harry nodded, smiling. Billy seemed so lonely, waiting here all alone for someone to come and talk to him. Harry was good at reading people, and Billy seemed to just want some company.

Billy went in back for a moment, coming back with a couple of armchairs floating behind him. He arranged them in front of the window, looking out over the bustling Diagon Alley. Waving his wand haphazardly, a teapot and two teacups came flying out of the back room as well, followed by a small coffee table. They all arranged themselves neatly, the way that women often set out for tea.

Billy shrugged when he saw Harry looking at him, amused. "I had a little sister and a mom. They both loved tea parties and my mom was a stickler for manners. She made sure I knew how to do it right."

Harry smiled, sitting down on the chair closer to the door, just in case he needed to make a run for it. Billy sat down on the other chair, awkward and clumsy. It was obvious that he didn't get visitors much. "So..." he started awkwardly, "you want to learn more about Hufflepuff?"

Harry nodded, leaning forward eagerly. _'Hufflepuff's always underrated. There's practically nothing about them in the history books.'_

Billy nodded, also leaning forward. Harry focused on his eyes, watery brown and full of concentration and a bit of nervousness, so that he'd know if he needed to run. "Well," Billy started, rubbing his chin as if he was used to a beard being there, "The Hufflepuff common room is yellow. All the years share one room. There are no gender divisions, as Miss Helga always believed in treating both genders equally, with no restrictions. There is just one long room, with bunk beds lining three of the walls. It's like a corridor, long and narrow, but wide enough that five can walk abreast down it. You have to go into the common room in order to reach the bathroom, which has a communal bath/hot tub in the middle of the room, open-stall showers across one wall, with toilets across from them, these with stalls, though, and the last wall has a door which leads to private rooms for any purpose. You just tell the door what you need and who can get in, and it'll be made for you. In the common room, there's a bulletin board for school announcements and advertisements, along with a long table that's always heaped with food. Helga never liked having her students go hungry."

Harry smiled, imagining it. The yellow walls and bulletin board, the table of food and the doors leading to the bathroom and dormitory. _'What else?'_

"Well..." Billy sat back slightly, rubbing his chin. "That's about it, I guess. It's cosy, with a low ceiling and a ton of plants. If you like Herbology, you're sure to like the common room. Students tend to bring plants over the years and leave them anywhere, so you'd better watch your step. There's more, but I can't tell you everything. Some things you have to find out for yourself."

He smiled at Harry. Harry could see fondness in his eyes. "Now..." He leapt up, eyes sparkling. "Since you stopped to talk to me, I'm going to give you the best discount you're ever going to get in your entire life!"

With a wave of his wand, everything went flying back into the room behind the counter, almost striking Harry on the head. Excited, Billy took no notice. Waving a wand around a few more times, he shuffled through a few chests and trunks before finding the one he was looking for and shoving it into Harry's arms. "Here you go, best trunk in the shop, free of charge. I don't charge those who talk and listen. Have a great life, Harry!"

And before Harry could even blink, he found himself outside, clutching a trunk, staring at a dilapidated old shop with peeling paint and half-drawn shutters. That was interesting. Carefully, he packed everything into the trunk, which he then shrunk, putting it in his pocket. Then he set off down the Alley, heading to Ollivander's, the best place for wands in Diagon Alley.

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Almost three hours later, Ollivander was stumped. Harry had tried every single wand in the store, and none of them had been right. There had been one, offered with extreme reluctance, made of holly and phoenix feather, but it hadn't been quite right, either, and had been discarded with all the rest.

Finally, Ollivander had to admit defeat, and he offered to make Harry a new wand, one made just for him. It was rare that he had to do so, but he still had all the materials in the back. Winking, he told the boy that he didn't have strictly light materials in the back, so he'd have to be careful not to say where he'd gotten it from or what was in it.

Grinning, Harry followed the old man into a half-hidden back room covered in dust and cobwebs. There were three table, one along each wall. One had blocks of wood, one had materials such as feathers and scales, and one had bowls of liquid. 

Ollivander gestured out. "Find the ones that resonate within you. One from each table. A liquid core, a solid core, and a wood. Go on. Find what's right for you."

Harry hesitantly stepped toward the closest table, which contained the liquid cores. Closing his eyes, he stretched out his senses to feel the cores. Some his core rejected right away, leaving him dizzy and gasping for breath, others were closer.

Carefully, he continued down the line, hand hovering over each core. He didn't know what he'd found and didn't want to know.

Then he stopped. He'd found it. Slowly, he turned and looked at it. It was a strange purplish-red colour and appeared to have coagulated slightly. 

Ollivander watched from over his shoulder. "Ah. Dragon blood. Signifies fierce protectiveness, a deep rage, and a fiery heart. A good core for a warrior." He took the bowl and put it on a special side table. 

Next, Harry carefully crossed the room, heading to the solid cores. This one went really fast; it was the first one he touched. "A feather from an Ebony Phoenix, and an albino one at that. Very rare, slightly illegal, and very special. Signifies protection, fire, heart, honesty, courage, knowledge, and song," Ollivander said, gently plucking it from the table, "Just tell everyone it's simply phoenix feather."

And finally, Harry crossed over to the woods, immediately grabbing one and holding it up puzzled. "Ah, the horn of a unicorn. While technically not a wood, it can be used in wands if freely given. Signifies purity, honesty, innocence, protection, blood, and magic. A truly esteemed wood." 

Ollivander plucked it out of Harry's hands, gathering it up with the dragon's blood and phoenix feather. "It should be done by the time you get your books. Don't bother with the owl; you'll be getting a much better companion soon, one that can also carry mail for you. Well, you be back soon, Mr Potter."

And, for the second time in as many shops, Harry found himself standing outside, watching the flow of traffic. Shaking himself firmly, he headed straight to Flourish and Blotts, which was very grand for a simple bookstore.

The first thing that Harry went for was his coursebooks, which were essential, but he then went for an old copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ , a couple books on politics, a book on creature inheritances, a few books on how the magic world worked, a certain potions book that he remembered had very clear and concise instructions on how and why to do everything in Potions, all the year books for every class but Defense Against the Dark Arts, since he remembered the curse (everyone who didn't know about the curse was a blind idiot or knew nothing about the magical world), a few curse books, instructions on etiquette, genealogy books, wandlore... okay, fine, he got a lot. 

Harry walked up to the desk, showing them to the attendant, who quirked his eyebrow and smirked but scanned the books using a quick spell, and Harry enjoyed seeing his eyes pop as Harry produced the exact amount required from his bag without even looking. 

And then Harry went back to Ollivander's to collect his wand. 

.·｡˚·☽.⋆˚☾·○·☽｡⋆˚·☆·˚⋆｡☾·○·☽˚⋆.☾·˚｡·.

The wand was magnificent. It was pure white in colour, almost twenty-three centimetres long, with the distinctive unicorn spirals corkscrewing down its length. It ended in a sharp point, edge glistening like a blade. Unicorns were defensive creatures, so their horns were sharp as blades and several times as strong. Harry could sense the power surging within it and picked it up hesitantly.

Ollivander smiled, handing Harry a small box. "That would be fourteen Galleons. If you want a wrist holster, that would be an extra five." 

Harry was more than willing to pay.

.·｡˚·☽.⋆˚☾·○·☽｡⋆˚·☆·˚⋆｡☾·○·☽˚⋆.☾·˚｡·.

When Harry left Diagon Alley, he realized that he had nowhere to go. His family wouldn't take him back in, he'd already graduated from Castigo, and no orphanage would take him. He was on his own.

So he went to King's Cross Station, which wasn't all that far away, found a small hole in the wall, and wriggled his way under the floor. He could live underneath their feet, in a place that was small, dirty, dusty, and wet, but at least it was both better and safer than nothing. 

And then he waited.


End file.
